


In Which Maeglin Gets A Cat (or more accurately, A Cat Gets Maeglin)

by Harp_of_Gold



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (nothing extreme), Bias Against Black Cats, Cats, Fluff, Gen, Gondolin, Hurt/Comfort, Indirect Bullying, Nightmares, brief mentions of past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:13:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24460354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harp_of_Gold/pseuds/Harp_of_Gold
Summary: Maeglin saves an abandoned kitten.
Comments: 25
Kudos: 114





	In Which Maeglin Gets A Cat (or more accurately, A Cat Gets Maeglin)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to huanhoundofvalinor on tumblr for the idea!

A piteous mew caught his attention. It belonged to a little black kitten, not much more than a scrap of slicked-down fur in the pouring rain. Maeglin glanced at it briefly and brushed off the impulse to snatch it up and shelter it under his thick cloak. He couldn't rescue every motherless stray in the city. Someone else would give it a home. It didn't have to be him.

As he hesitated, someone walked by and kicked it aside. “Foul spawn of Morgoth,” they muttered.

“Hey! You can't just—” But the elf didn't hear his initial shout, and the rest of Maeglin’s protest died in his throat. He didn't want that kind of attention on him. The kitten had scrambled back to her feet and was cowering against the side of the building. “C'mere, little one. I can at least get you dry and warm.” She backed away, but Maeglin knelt, holding out his hand, and when he made no startling moves, she crept up and warily sniffed his fingers before rubbing her face against them. Maeglin sighed. “Up you go.” She only squirmed a bit as he tucked her against his chest and carried her to the forge.

He shared a large space with Lord Rog and several of his House, and though he rarely spoke with many of the other smiths, they were friendly, and he liked the sense of community. One of them looked askance at him as he rubbed the kitten dry with the edge of his cloak and turned her loose. “They say one of Morgoth's servants is a great black cat,” she said.

“Hmm.” Maeglin shrugged.

“That thing could be one of his spies. You'd never know until it was at your throat.” She spoke in jest, with a laugh at the end, but Maeglin could feel the current of discomfort that underlay her words.

“It's just a kitten. It's pouring outside. I'll put her back out as soon as it's dry.” 

The smith went back to her work, and Maeglin prepared his station to start his own, but the casual hate towards the small creature haunted him. All the hurtful words about him, muttered under breath or thought very loudly, came back. _“Just look how he cringes from the light. Orcish blood, that one.” “His father fell to Morgoth's corruption. How could he not pass on the taint?” “You know what they say, like father, like son!”_

The kitten winding around his ankle broke through his thoughts. He lifted her up and set her under his workbench on a stack of clean rags. “Stay. You can't get underfoot while I'm working.” She nuzzled against his hand and followed him right back to his anvil. 

“Is that your cat, Maeglin?” 

He froze. Rog had escaped from Angband, and if anyone had a right to hate something that reminded people of Morgoth, surely he did. “No. I don't even like cats. I just let her in to get out of the rain.” It was true; he wasn’t sure why it made him feel a little guilty.

Rog scooped her up, cradling her in his huge, rough hands and stroking her head. Maeglin could hear her purr over the hammers on the far side of the forge. “Cute little thing. Might do you some good to have company.”

Maeglin scoffed. “I suffer from too much company in this nosy city, not a lack.”

Rog patted his shoulder, and somehow, coming from him, it didn't feel condescending. “I bet she’s hungry. Do you have any food with you? I already ate my lunch.”

“Yeah, yeah, let me see…” He'd told the servants not to bother packing him anything; he was supposed to meet Salgant for lunch and a discussion of finances. They were preparing him to take on his own House, and he wasn't sure he wanted it. If he was lucky, he'd soon receive a message that lunch was cancelled. Maeglin loved rainy days. 

He poked through the little store of waybread and dried meats and fruits he kept at the forge. He'd never quite been able to shake the habit of stashing food wherever he might want it, even though his father could no longer send him to bed without supper from where he rested at the bottom of the cliffs. He suspected Rog had a similar stockpile somewhere, but he'd never seen proof. Adding some warmed water to the crumbled bread and shreds of jerky he assembled made it look even less appetizing, but when he set the dish down, the kitten came running and eagerly gobbled down the mush. “Tch. You'll make yourself sick eating so fast.”

After she ate, she washed her paws and then her face, and she curled up in the rags and promptly fell asleep. By the time Maeglin had finished and cleaned up for the day, the sun had come out. It glittered blindingly on the wet white marble. Maeglin stretched and rolled his shoulders. He felt pleasantly tired, and hoped that meant he could rest tonight. His nightmares had been relentless of late. “Time to get up, little one. You have to go now.” Upon waking, the kitten stretched too. Maeglin deposited her outside and started walking home. Tiny paws were pattering at his heels. He looked back, right into a pair of wide green eyes. “No, you can’t come with me. The deal was only shelter from the rain. I don't even like cats.” He sped up, hoping she'd get tired and stop following. As he thought about it, he hadn’t really known many cats. Only the gigantic, majestically long-haired beasts that had hissed at him when he got too close in Dwarven halls, and Turgon's cats, who looked down their noses at him and walked away when he tried to pet them.

When he reached Turgon's palace, the kitten was still there. She rubbed against his legs and purred. Maeglin sighed. “Fine, but just for tonight. We’re finding you another home tomorrow.” She hopped onto his thigh when he sank into his desk chair, purring loudly and kneading with tiny, pin-prick claws. “We are not doing this,” Maeglin told her sternly, setting her back on the floor. She was undeterred, and after two more attempts at discouraging her, Maeglin gave up. She turned around several times and curled into a little vibrating ball in his lap. He had to admit Rog was right; she was cute. 

He left her sleeping in the chair when he went to dinner, and he brought her back some scraps. Her ears perked, and she attacked the food. Maeglin lay on the floor and watched her. “No one wants you,” he murmured. Turgon had seemed sympathetic when he'd told his uncle about the kitten and asked who might take her, but he'd frowned when Maeglin mentioned her color. 

“I don’t know, Maeglin. That might be difficult. That's probably why she was thrown out on the street in the first place,” he'd said.

“No one wants me either,” Maeglin told the kitten. “They want Aredhel's son, but they don't want _me._ Too quiet. Too sullen. Too _smart._ Too much of my father. Like I ever asked to be his.” Someone at dinner had tipped his chin up and told him to _smile_ again, and he was still seething. He tried to settle into bed with a book, but it was hard to relax. The kitten had found a rolled up sock, and was pouncing on it and batting it around. Maeglin sighed. “You can't stay.”

Sleep was elusive, and when it finally came, the nightmares he'd feared came too. He was falling, falling forever, cast from the heights like his father. The people of Gondolin laughed as he fell. _“Practically an orc…” “No loss…” “Spawn of Morgoth.” “Always hated those big, all-knowing eyes…”_ Maeglin woke sobbing and gasping for breath. A little head butted his cheek. He reached up and felt soft fur. He stroked the kitten gently, and she started to purr, the sound so big he would never have believed it could come from so small a body. She climbed onto his chest, still purring, and curled up. The little weight and her warmth were comforting, and Maeglin slowly calmed. “It might be good to have some company,” he whispered as he drifted back to sleep. No more nightmares troubled him that night.


End file.
